


The Announcement

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Series: Traitorous Hearts [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: ...I hope, Early courtship, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, mother/daughter banter, oh boy, or couple, the beginnings of the disaster couple, the most disastrous couple to ever disaster, there will be slight ongoing AU bits for the series but most of the work will end up canon-compliant, these two do, yall wish you could see the future?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: When the eldest Cousland daughter scorns most of the Bannorn with her rejection of marriage, her warrior mother works her own kind of magic.





	1. Chapter 1

_1 August, 9:28 Dragon_

 

“I know you hate this conversation—”  
  
“We have it so often, you’d think you’d learn—”  
  
“—but your father insists that it’s time, Rhiona. Some would say it’s beyond time, actually.”   
  
The embroidery hoop fell from Rhiona’s hands, her fingers stiff despite the warmth of the fireplace beside them. A glance up showed her mother’s unimpressed face, set into a slight scowl. “And what if I refuse?”   
  
Eleanor hummed and returned to her own needlepoint, stabbing at the fabric with more force than strictly necessary. “You’ve said that every time, too. You’d think you would learn, Ree.”   
  
Rhiona frowned and toyed with the end of her braid, her fingers carding through the long tail. “Well, that’s because the men he’s tried introducing to me are stupid,” she opined. “No mind for freedom, for adventure. For, well, anything fun. Plus, I think every one of those noble sons has politely decried association with me, for being so… ‘spirited,’ I think the word was.”   
  
“They’re not stupid for not sharing our love of the blade.” Eleanor sighed and set down her project in favor of her tea. “But you’re now twenty-five, and generally past the age that most noble daughters get married.”  
  
“Well. I disagree.”   
  
“Not surprised at all.”   
  
Rhiona scoffed. “So, what—you’re going to ship me off to some insipid nobleman in the middle of the bannorn? He’d survive five minutes of me; I doubt we’d make it to the wedding!”  
  
“Good thing I’m the one who made the match, then, for all involved. Your poor father is a great man, but being Teyrn has made him forget our more... rambunctious days.”   
  
Eleanor smiled and leaned forward conspiratorially. “But this man is a good match, Ree; I promise you, it isn’t worth the efforts to sabotage this one. He’s more than your equal in that regard; you won’t scare him off like you did the others. You’re lucky you’re father’s come to be quite the diplomat and was able to soothe those rankled egos.”   
  
Rhiona pursed her lips into a tight line, scowling at the gleam in her mother’s eyes. “You’re too excited about this,” she observed with growing suspicion. “You find this funny, which means either father doesn’t know, or he doesn’t agree and you’re ignoring his objections. What do you get out of this?”  
  
Eleanor’s hand rose to her breast in feigned indignation. “Could I not possibly be happy for my eldest daughter? Would you begrudge your poor mother a sliver of hope that she might live to see her children wed?”   
  
“Really? One of the most feared raiders of the Storm Coast, a hero of the war for independence, is going to pull the ‘poor mother’ card? I don’t believe any of that for a second. You forget I’m more like you than the others,” Rhiona reminded her with a reluctant smile.   
  
“Which is why I was the one to negotiate this one. Your father doesn’t see your strengths the way I do.” Eleanor rose, every inch the noble pirate queen, and crossed to her dressing room. “We should go to the training yard,” she called, trading her dress for a simple set of leather armor.   
  
“What?” Rhiona frowned as she stood. “Why there?”  
  
“I have a better chance of convincing you if you’re distracted, and I know you’d soon beg off for your lessons, anyway.” Eleanor smiled and adjusted her vest. “Go change, I’ll meet you there.”   
  
It took only a few minutes to change into more suitable clothes, the familiar leather trousers and thickly padded gambeson enveloping her with a sense of serenity found only on the field. A quick jog through the castle brought her to the inner courtyard where the training dummies stood at the ready. Eleanor waited, blunted blade in one hand and a thick shield in the other.  
  
Rhiona nodded and hurried to the weapon rack, and soon she faced off against her mother. It wasn’t often that they sparred together; Rhiona most often sparred with the castle guards outside of formal lessons and her own shifts on guard duty. It must have been a particularly significant conversation Eleanor wanted to have for her to put aside time to spar.  
  
They circled each other, assessing weaknesses and potential gaps in the other’s guard. Trading quick feints and jabs had the training yard echoing with the ringing of steel on steel, of shields battering against each other.   
  
“You were going to tell me of the unlucky man whom you’re trying to convince to make an offer,” Rhiona prompted. She scraped away a strike that had been aimed for her shoulder with her shield, the hit vibrating painfully into her hand. A quick thrust had her blade chasing the opening, only to be turned away.   
  
Eleanor danced out of range for a heartbeat. “In a moment, after I thrash you.” She darted forward and swiped at an opening on the left, her blunted blade grazing over Rhiona’s hip. A pivot gracefully had her stepping away from the answering hit, glancing off her shield instead of her sword arm.   
  
Rhiona scowled and brought her shield up, its bulk covering much of her middle. “Hard to focus on this and your dastardly plans. Bravo.”  
  
“I try.”  
  
They traded blows until they ached, tossing taunts and feinted jabs in equal measure. Even at her age, the former fearless raider she called her mother was brilliant on the field. Rhiona grinned widely, imagining Eleanor’s younger days in the thick of the war.   
  
A single step out of placement, her foot turned slightly out of line, spelled the end of their friendly fight; Eleanor eyed the opening Rhiona had carelessly left and soon drove her to her knees. Rhiona gasped at the hitch in her side, muscles clenched, and dropped her sword.   
  
“I yield!” She came to her hands and knees, body aching. Rhiona knew she had been bested but reveled in the way her muscles screamed, in the way her sweat dripped into her eyes and plastered the loose strands of hair to her neck, in how her blood sang with the opportunity to fight.   
  
Eleanor offered her hand and hauled Rhiona back to her feet. “I impressed upon him your need for martial allowance. You are your mother’s daughter, after all, and he well remembers me. Truthfully, I think he welcomes the idea. Decent sparring partners are hard to come by.”   
  
Rhiona grimaced when her side hitched again, pulling against her when she tried to walk. She bent to lean against her shield instead. “So I know he’s not some poncy son, he knows you both, and he likes to spar. Sounds lovely already, I’ll get my veil.”   
  
Eleanor’s laughter rang out through the courtyard. “And he’s a general. Very highly regarded. In fact, very close to the King and Queen.”   
  
Her brow furrowed. A teyrn’s daughter marrying a general? No matter how friendly he was to their monarchs, that didn’t quite match her understanding of the game that was the noble marriage.   
  
“Not that I’m complaining, but I can’t see father allowing me to wed some army general. He seems much more invested in the sake of propriety and such.”   
  
Her mother snorted. “Keep going, pup.”  
  
The pieces slowly came together at her mother’s widening grin. “Which means he’s a nobleman, working with the army, which could be any of a few men. You also say he remembers you, not that he knows you, so…”   
  
She pursed her lips. “Which means he’s much older than me—closer to you and father, then. An older man, an army general. But he needs an heir, or else he wouldn’t need to get married, so that leaves...”  
  
The face bloomed in her mind—severe and gruff, though kind, his mouth set in a perpetual scowl. His brow had taken to its heavy creases, furrowed in frustration and responsibility for as long as she could remember. Certainly for as long as she had known him, as shallowly as she did.   
  
And his eyes—oh, how they had captured her, so many years ago, the grey-blue the Waking Sea in all its rage. They flashed and shuttered with his passion, his feelings clear and expressive upon his face, and had drawn her in when they had first met seven years ago at her formal introduction to the Ferelden Court. He had been brusque and aloof—as was his wont, she had later learned, though he was not unkind; that distance did nothing to abate the _wonder_ she had found in him, even married as he had been then.  
  
Rhiona felt the blush scald over her face, burning its way down her neck. Her gaze snapped up to her mother, who only cackled.    
  
“You _didn’t_.”  
  
“I did!”   
  
Rhiona slumped to her knees once more, her shield clattering into the dirt. “Teyrna Celia’s been gone only what, a year? He would never agree!”   
  
“And that’s where you’re wrong. He’s already given his pledge, though with caveats. We just need to make the betrothal official.” Eleanor crouched before her and patted her shoulder. “We will be wintering in Denerim to do just that; you, your sister, and I will be leaving in two weeks.”  
  
A guard interrupted them, calling for the Teyrna’s attention. Eleanor rose with a smile and called back over her shoulder as she left to follow.   
  
“You’d best practice your new signature, pup—soon enough you’ll be Rhiona Mac Tir, Teyrna of Gwaren and its outlying lands.”   
  
She sat in stunned silence against the dust and dirt of the training yard, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Not only would she be married, but to a man who had stolen her heart as a youth with his passionate fervor for Ferelden’s might, with his clear love and loyalty to their country.   
  
“Rhiona Elena Mac Tir,” she murmured to herself. Warmth grew in her belly at the name, curling into her breast with frightening ease.   
  
It had a compelling ring to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr as ocean-in-my-rebel-soul!
> 
> Comments and concrit always appreciated! Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

The coach rolled over the Imperial Highway, the whickering of the horses audible through the velveted cabin. Rhiona gazed out the window, watching the snow-covered forest pass by, so quiet and serene compared to their caravan of carriages and luggage coaches.

They were almost to the capital, after nearly two weeks of travel, and she never had been so glad to see the countryside whirl past the window.

“Are you getting nervous?”

Rhiona turned to face her sister, sitting opposite her in the cabin. “Nervous? What for?”

Elissa nodded, her fingers plucking absently at the lace of her sleeves. “I think I would be, at least. I’ve heard so many things about Teyrn Loghain. Is it true he personally fought with Mother and Father in the war?”

“If I remember correctly, yes. Though I’m never sure how to take all those old tales; Mother and Father disagree so often with how bloody things got, or how certain battles came about, that I wonder if either of them knows for sure, themselves!”

Elissa laughed, her light hair falling into her face. “I have noticed that,” she confided, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Though both are getting on in their years, perhaps their minds are going?”

Rhiona grinned. “You hush, young lady, I will not have Her Ladyship’s honor besmirched in such a manner,” she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her breast in feigned indignance. “You know full well that Eleanor Cousland is not a day over twenty-five!”

“Ha! If that’s so, I’m the Queen of Ferelden!”

Both sisters laughed at that, dispelling the quiet air that had grown since they left their last rest stop that morning.

“And what of you, my dearest sister? Are you growing nervous?”

Elissa’s smile faltered slightly. “A little,” she admitted. “I don’t know what to expect. I mean, we’ve been to Denerim many times, but that was before all… this.” She waved a hand down the front of her gown. “All before the whole ‘being a lady’ business. I’m not sure what to expect, now that I’m to be formally introduced to Court.”

Rhiona nodded. Her own experience was not much more than a big party, if she remembered correctly, mostly being reintroduced as a peer of the realm, a Lady in her own right.

“Well, it shouldn’t be that intense of an experience,” she hazarded. “At least there will be others in town, and Father and Fergus will hopefully be joining us later. The event itself will likely take place after your birthday, so you have some time.”

Elissa nodded, her mouth pressed tight in an anxious line.

Rhiona tried again. “Satinalia is just a month away, right around the corner! Their Majesties open parts of the castle to the public for the festivities. Maybe you’ll find something interesting about that?”

Elissa gave a small, lopsided smile at the thought. “Maybe, though I think I’d much rather browse the Royal Library than attend a party. I hear they have over five thousand volumes in the main archives alone!” Her face fell again, some inner turmoil playing through her mind, and turned to stare out her own window, leaving Rhiona to her thoughts.

Denerim was colder than Highever, she remembered, watching fat, fluffy flakes dance outside the carriage. She had long since forgone the dresses and skirts her mother and sister tended to wear, in favor of her trousers and blouses, though attendance in the Royal Palace would likely dictate more formal wear. Rhiona grimaced; give her a sturdy pair of breeches any day over a skirt. They both may have their uses, but at least breeches came with built-in pockets and kept one warmer in the cold Fereldan winter.

“Ree?”

“Mm?” Rhiona asked absently, still thinking of her wardrobe. Perhaps she could discreetly trade out a dress or two in favor of formal breeches and vests, though her sister-in-law Oriana would skin her at the thought of wearing them to the palace. She might have kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier, instead of letting herself be distracted by the whirlwind of everything.  

“Why did you agree to all this? To him, to marriage, and all that?”

Rhiona turned to Elissa at the provocative question, thoughts of her attire forgotten. With Fergus valiantly coming up in their father’s footsteps, and Elissa turning to be a promising young scholar, House Cousland didn’t want for much. The ties made by marriage weren’t as vital to them as for many other families. She could have pursued a life of relative freedom; why hadn’t she fought for it as much as she could have?

“I’m… not entirely sure, to be honest,” she said slowly. The carriage rocked in time to her pronouncement. “To others, the opportunity to bring Gwaren back to health after the absence of its lord might be a compelling argument, but I never considered myself a fit for the role of Teyrna.” Rhiona grimaced. “No matter what people might say about Fergus’ hotheadedness, I’m very glad not to be eldest.”

“So… what made this match acceptable? Instead of any of the others?” Elissa watched her with an academic’s study, and Rhiona keenly felt the weight of that observation.

“I don’t know that I could sum it up so neatly,” she demurred.

Oh, but she could if she tried. If she wanted to give weight to youthful fantasy, to stories and local legends made flesh. To the idea of noble knights and warrior maidens, to honorable patriots that bled love and duty. Loghain—or the larger-than-life idea of him, rather—had been the inspiration of many a naive dream of a younger Rhiona, impressionable and stubborn in her Fade-born adventures with knights who always managed to have steely blue eyes.

Rhiona sighed internally, mentally shaking herself from her thoughts. Youthful infatuation was no true measurement against which to judge the man.

“Do you think you might love him?”  

She snorted. “I think you’ve been reading too many Orlesian romances, is what I think. I hardly know him! We’ve met, oh, a handful of times since I came of age, and Her Ladyship Celia only recently left for the Maker’s side. It’s much too early to talk of love, don’t you think?”

“Hm.”

_ Was  _ she nervous? True, the thought of a partnership with His Lordship thrilled some secret part of her, but she had never before considered herself the marrying type. She had long found herself more eager to pursue a military career of her own or some other exciting venture. While her parents did encourage her to consider marriage, it was never out of a need to see her wedded; just to see her happy, as her mother once put it, the thought initially offending Rhiona’s sense of independence.

Her fingers laced together. Oh, Maker, now she  _ was _ anxious about it, Rhiona realized, a pit growing in her stomach. Damn her sister’s probing.

“He’s… honorable, and honest, if our interactions are worth judging him by. I do value that. And he wouldn’t try to convince me to give up my sword. But other than that…”

Elissa nodded thoughtfully at the answer. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said. “I… I don’t know what I want to do. Fergus and Oriana seem so happy together, and you don’t absolutely hate the idea of a partnership, but I…”

She sighed and rested her face in her hands. “I’m sure I sound positively boring, but I think I’d rather go to university than to the marriage bed. Every time Oriana goes on about how  _ wonderful _ it all is, I just want to run away.”

Rhiona smiled and leaned forward, resting her hand on Elissa’s knee affectionately. “You would make a great student, Ellie,” she said confidently. “I know Orlais would be lucky to have you.”

“Do you think so?” Elissa peeked through her fingers, the beginnings of smothered worry

“I know so. I’m sure Father will have a right fit about sending his youngest to Orlais, but I’ve heard so many wonderful things about the University!”

Elissa brightened at her words. She burst into an excited speech, gesturing wildly with her hands as she described the illustrious campus, the past season’s lecture series, and the sheer number of opportunities that lay in wait for an enterprising student.

Rhiona smiled and settled in her seat for the lecture.  

-

The parade of coaches made it to their Denerim estate just as the sun dipped below the horizon, the stones of the noble quarter stained a deep blue as evening shadows descended. With the driver’s assistance, Rhiona barely kept herself from tumbling to the ground on her shaky, numb legs.

“I hate coach travel,” she muttered, bracing herself against the door of the coach as she gained her bearings.

Ahead of her, Eleanor laughed, the noise floating back along the length of the small caravan to precede its owner. “I know, I know, it’s not your favorite, but it’s more convenient than riding through the snow. At least we’re here now,” her mother said with a grin, appearing from within her own carriage.

Porters waited for them along the inner drive of the manor house, descending the main stairs while the heavy gate lowered behind their traveling party. Rhiona helped unload her belongings from her carriage, reluctantly allowing the attendant to take up her trunk of personal effects.

Maker, she hated feeling useless in her own home.

She shook it off and ran her hands through her long hair, the mahogany strands twisting in her fidgeting fingers while she wrangled her locks into a loose braid. With a tired sigh, Rhiona let herself be swept up through the wide double doors by her mother and sister, the other members of their party in tow.

Rhiona had only just relaxed in for the evening, unpacking her trunks and organizing her belongings into the large bureau and wardrobe of her room, when her mother knocked on her door later that night.

Eleanor padded into the room, her soft slippers sinking into the plush carpeting. "How are you settling in?" She sat on the edge of the large bed, watching as Rhiona carefully unfolded her clothes.

Rhiona shrugged, shaking the wrinkles from a simple gown. "As well as expected, I suppose. I know I've made the trip countless times before, but I swear, I forget how much I hate coach travel every time."

Her mother nodded. "And your sister? She was already in bed when I went to check on her."

"Quiet, for the most part, though not unexcited. I think she is eager to go through the library, see what new volumes we have. She mentioned wanting to visit the Royal Library, as well; I imagine she would love to arrange for that as soon and as often as possible."

Rhiona focused on her task: unfold, fluff, shake, store. Repeat. Unfold, fluff, shake, store. Her fingers needed something to do, else they might tremble and betray her nerves. "You said he had reservations about the arrangement when you told me about his offer. What are they?"

"Caveats," Eleanor corrected. "Some terms to negotiate."

She fought to keep from pursing her lips at her mother's careful non-answer. "Such as?"

"More time, I expect. Celia was a great woman, one who is dearly missed," came Eleanor's nostalgic tone. "I didn't know her well but in my dealings with her, she was a fair, kindhearted woman, full of fire as befit any proud Fereldan. If I were to guess, it would be more time to mourn and move on before announcing another engagement. He hadn't outlined them when we last wrote, but he did give his pledge. I will be meeting with him in the coming weeks to speak more on the subject."

Rhiona mused on the explanation, lingering over her mother's description. "Her Ladyship sounded like a wonderful woman," she started, chewing on her lip. Another pair of trousers was folded and placed in a lavender-scented drawer. "I regret not having had the opportunity to meet her, but... that may be for the best, considering."

"Considering what?" A hand rested on her shoulder, her mother having snuck from the bed to cross the room to her. Eleanor spoke again, giving her a gentle squeeze. "You are a good, strong woman, Rhiona, never forget that. Intelligent and well-spoken, kind and fair, and with a mind for administration that rivals your father. You will make a fine Teyrna, whether it be of Gwaren or Highever, or whatever you might choose to do with your life."

A warm sense of serenity fell over her, and Rhiona bowed her head. "I don't like feeling this... this anxious," she admitted softly. "This unsure of myself. What if I don't actually want this, Mother? I never considered being a Teyrna, even when Fergus threatened not to return from Antiva after his disagreement with Father. What if he finds me unsuitable? What if we aren't a good match, and my thoughts are colored by my ridiculous, youthful affection for a myth of a man?"

Eleanor wrapped her arms around Rhiona's shoulder and rested her brow against her temple. "Why don't we meet with him a couple times before solidifying anything?" she suggested. "I just don't want to see you so lonely, Ree. You're too much like me when I was young, wanting for something I didn't recognize for a long time. I only wish to make sure you are fulfilled and successful, in whatever you choose to do."

"Really? You’ve been awfully insistent in the whole ‘marrying me off’ thing."

"You can’t fault me for wanting grandchildren, surely!” Her embrace shifted into a tight hug. "But yes, Ree. I only have ever wanted to see you happy. If you decide you don't want to go through with this, we can make that happen, and I won’t press the issue again."

Rhiona smiled into Eleanor's greying hair. "Thank you, Mother," she murmured. "I feel so relieved to hear that. It's so unnerving to feel this adrift."

They parted, though her mother's hands still gently clasped her shoulders. "Welcome to adulthood, my dear," Eleanor said with a chuckle. "I hate to inform you, but we're all adrift. We just make the best of it as we can, and go along with it. But I will do everything in my power to see you secure, I promise you that."

They embraced once more before Eleanor made her exit for the evening. Rhiona finished unpacking her belongings, clothes, arms, and armor all nestled into their proper places by her careful hand. Her eyes swept about the room a final time before she blew out the candles, the only light remaining coming from the small hearth.

Home sweet home, for the season.


	3. Chapter 3

The Royal Library was, perhaps, the single most impressive library in all of Ferelden. Built by King Maric in 9:14 and dedicated to his mother, it was a grand building in itself; two stories and an additional basement level housed thousands of volumes and scrolls of various rarities, displayed alongside a substantial collection of fine art recovered from the time of the Orlesian occupation. The King had proudly encouraged the populace’s education, and soon the building became the destination of scholars, tutors, and governesses with wayward charges alike. The grand library was a bastion of learning and history.

It was also a bit much.

Rhiona looked on with pained amusement as Elissa flitted between long rows of heavily-laden shelves. Her sister wore that face - one of dreamy, romantic inclination that heralded many a night of reading well into the morning.

“You know you can’t camp in the library, don’t you?” Rhiona teased. Elissa reacquainted herself with the shelves before her eyes, hands brushing over every surface they could reach. “You can’t move in, Ellie.”

“I know, I know,” she replied, wistful. “Do you think they really have five thousand books?”

“At least, and likely more scrolls and other items. The main room alone is huge!”

“Maker…” Elissa all but vibrated with delight when she returned to Rhiona’s side. Together the sisters made their way to the Head Librarian’s desk further into the room, Elissa whispering excitedly as they passed various stacks and displays.

A quick chat led them to their desired sections, and Rhiona watched Elissa hurry back to the shelves, pulling thick, leather-bound books from their resting places with reverent sighs. A smile curled Ree’s lip at the sight of her sister all but sliding down a heavy bookcase as she read.

With a fond shake of her head, she turned back to her own goal, searching the shelves for the right section. She might not have had her sister’s fondness for lectures and treatises, but she couldn’t help her own adoration for reading.

—

“Ree! You—oh, sorry, I’ll be quieter,” Elissa said hours later, somewhere in the shelves behind her. Her voice lowered to a hissed whisper. “Ree! Come here, quick!”

The urgent call broke through the silence of her reverie and Rhiona snapped to attention. She pushed from the table in the reading section awkwardly, only to catch the chair legs in the plush carpet beneath her; toppling backward, Ree hit the ground, her shoulder bearing the brunt of her weight.

Her cheeks burned as she lay on the floor before the hearth, stunned, her panicked heartbeat racing in her chest. A burst of amused chuckling sounded behind her.

“Allow me to help.”

Her heart lurched at the familiar voice, the subject of many a flighty thought, but she hesitated only a moment when the owner offered his hands. With his assistance, she quickly regained her footing.

“I… That was not exactly the re-introduction I had hoped for, Your Lordship,” Rhiona said. “Let me be the first to explain that I am usually much more graceful.” She pulled her hands from his and set about to right the fallen chair, pushing it back against the table.

Her eyes meandered from the chair to him, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip at the sight. He wore his breastplate, lovingly buffed and glinting in the firelight where it was not covered by a rich blue surcoat, and trousers dyed a deep, rich brown. He was a literal knight in shining armor, Rhiona noticed with a renewed flush of heat.

A ghost of a smile pulled at his lips, settling back into a neutral line in the blink of an eye. “So I have been told, Lady Cousland,” Loghain remarked. “Your mother has spoken highly of you in our letters.”

Rhiona laughed and brushed a stray piece of hair from her face. “I can’t imagine what she would say; what does a mother say of her troublemaker daughter to a potential suitor?” she asked wryly.

Her hands smoothed over her clothes, pulling imaginary wrinkles from the green fabric of her tunic as she spoke. “Perhaps, ‘Yes, she pushed Lady Habren Bryland into a pond the other day, you’ll adore her so,’ or ‘she’s been the terror of Highever since she joined the city guard, she’s definitely the match for you,’” Rhiona said flippantly with a wave of her hand.

Loghain snorted and leaned his hip against the table. “Leonas’ daughter? I’ve heard she can warrant such actions.” His gaze fell on her face, studying her with quiet amusement. “I’m sure it was just an unfortunate accident, even if she deserved it.”

She examined him all the same. It had been two years since she had seen him last, when he had stayed in Castle Cousland during the summer; Highever hosted that year’s conference to discuss military matters with the various lords, ladies, and generals of Ferelden. Rhiona had just joined with the castle guard the previous winter, and her position and skill lent to her arguments to join the meeting.

Loghain was… almost just as she remembered from then, Rhiona realized. Sleepless nights had left their mark under his eyes, still the same grey-blue she had known before. There was a new heavy crease that stole across his forehead, surely the evidence of years of frowning, and tightness to his mouth despite the small smile that lingered there. Time had otherwise not taken its toll on him, not even in his hair, still coal-black and braided in a common style to frame his face.

Her hands itched to brush over his face, to trace the lines and furrows of his visage. She wanted to ease away that tension, to burrow in his hair.

“‘Just as you remembered?’” he echoed. Loghain’s brows drew together slightly.

_ Oh, Maker, take me now. _ “Did I say that out loud? I meant—” Rhiona broke off with a wince. “I meant, ah, I had worried that I wouldn’t recognize you and that our meeting would be awkward. Not that it isn’t now, but… anyway. What brings you to the Library?” she asked brightly, changing the subject. “I am surprised to see you about; I figured your duties must keep you occupied through the day.”

He waved a broad hand absentmindedly. “The curators have collected texts from the Rebellion, some records and letters from the various factions who fought against the Orlesians in the war.” Venom dripped at the words, his lip curling at the mention of their imperialist neighbor. “Cailan is hoping to find something in the compilations.”

His sentiments on Orlais were nigh-on legendary; his frequent—and unapologetic—declarations against the country added to his actions during the war for Ferelden’s independence to make him more a myth than a man.

“I hope whatever the King seeks, he finds it,” Rhiona said. “Queen Moira was a good woman, beloved by our countrymen—the epitome of Ferelden courage and strength.”

Loghain’s face softened. “That she was. Maric had told me of her, how she had united the rebel forces…” He trailed off with a quiet sigh. “She was a great woman, by all accounts. Hopefully, there is wisdom to be found on this wild goose chase of the King's."

“Ree!” Elissa’s impatient hiss called once again.

Rhiona saw her sister move to the end of a nearby shelf, book in hand, staring at them. She sighed and shook her head. “I should attend to my sister. It was pleasant to run into you, and thank you, Your Lordship. If you don’t mind…” She gave a short bow and passed him.

“Good day, Lady Cousland.”

His voice… Rhiona couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her at the sound, gravely and warm. She turned back to him with a smile. “It’s just Rhiona, or Ree, if you don’t mind. I would hope it’s not too familiar, at this juncture.”

Loghain nodded, and a small smile graced his lips once more. “Good day, then, Rhiona,” he said. “And welcome back to Denerim.”

She only just kept herself from running to her sister, forcing herself into a respectable walk until she pulled Elissa back between the shelves.

“Look at you,” Elissa whispered with a wide grin. “I’ve never seen you so nervous!”

“Shut up, Ellie, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rhiona leaned against the bookcase and rubbed her hands over her cheeks.

“Hm. What were you reading?”

“Marcher poetry, why?”

“Oh, nothing, but he seems interested. You left your book behind, you know.”

Riona groaned into her palms before peering back at the reading area, finding Loghain gone. “Of course I did. With my luck, he hates the whole form and thinks it something stupid. Maker, I’m ready, take me now.”

Ellie laughed. “I’ve never seen you this flustered, except maybe when Father caught you with Ser—”

“Nope, not talking about her!” Rhiona turned back to her sister and tapped her finger against Elissa’s nose, which drew a wide smile in response. “You hush about that.”

“I’m just saying, Ree, you’ve got it bad, if this is anything like those romances you like so much. But,” she spread her hands genially, “at least the man’s your future husband—”

“ _ Potential _ future husband!”

“—so you’re supposed to have a crush on him, right?”

“Ugh.” Rhiona closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath through her nose in careful meditation. “Okay,” she said, looking back at Elissa, “what did you need me for?”

Elissa’s eyes wandered to the books beside them. “I, ah, I forgot,” she muttered. “I got… distracted.”

“‘Distracted.’” Rhiona narrowed her eyes. "Really now."   


It was Elissa’s turn to blush, and Rhiona was all the more glad for it. “You didn’t mention how big and intimidating he is!” Elissa muttered as if the answer was obvious.

Ree snorted and crossed her arms, leaning against the bookshelf. “He was in his armor. Of course, he’s intimidating, that’s half the point.”

“And that dark surcoat just makes him look all…” Elissa drew quiet, thoughtful. “Well… If you end up not marrying him, maybe I should talk to Mother.”

“You  _ what? _ ”

“Do you think he has a brother?” Elissa asked, an exaggerated wistfulness coloring her words. “I might reconsider my earlier opinions on marriage if he does.”

“We’re done with this conversation!”

Elissa’s laughter followed her back out into the main reading section.

—

Satinalia crept slowly upon them. Day by day, the estate transformed; the servants brought in foliage from the nearby forests, dried alongside fragrant herbs and the last of the flowers to brave winter’s chill. Banisters were soon festooned with colorful ribbons and bowers of evergreen, the rugs and runners beaten clean, the rooms of the great manse emptied and aired out.

The holiday was her favorite. Rhiona had always loved the pageantry of the day, the whirlwind masquerades hosted to honor the season, the bright colors stark against the brilliant white snow outside. Highever had always hosted a public celebration, inviting the city folk to join the Couslands in the season’s bounty, to hold warm fires and eat and drink their fill to ward off the cold winds that blew south over the Waking Sea.

Denerim proved no different, if only for being bigger.

Eleanor and Elissa walked ahead of her in the market, weaving gracefully between other shoppers and merchants as they examined the wares. Ellie would look back at her, waving whatever had caught her eye—ribbons, embroidery thread, some other fancies—before putting it down and reconsidering.

“You’ll never find anything you want if you keep deciding to move on, you know,” Rhiona said, catching up to her. “Aren’t we here to finish your costume for the party?”

“It’s a delicate thing,” Elissa demurred. She tightened her long coat about her ribs before reaching for another string of beads.

Rhiona peered among the masks and ribbons of the next stall over, turning a leather mask in her hands. “You mean you don’t know what you want.” She examined the ribbons, comparing a variety against the lacquered mask. “Have you decided what you’re wearing?”

“I was thinking that ivory and blue design, with the silver embroidery. Perhaps a bird? Do people make bird masks?” Elissa frowned as she compared two strings of beads to one another. “I know we have the fabrics to make something like that, but I’d rather not put out the seamstresses too much. What are you wearing?

Rhiona nodded. “Blue is quite lovely on you; you’re lucky, having gotten Father’s family’s fair hair. I, however, have Mother’s darker coloring to blame. Oh, how it ruins my wardrobe!” she bemoaned with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I was angling green and silver, or gold. Haven’t finalized it with the seamstresses, but I’m hoping that the mask and accessories will help get me inspired to finish it. Satinalia is too close, I put it off too long.”

“Yes, impromptu meetings in the library will do that,” came their mother’s droll reply. Eleanor swept in beside her, an ornate mask in hand. “Here, try this on,” she suggested, handing it to Rhiona.

Butter-soft leather was painted with a vibrant green lacquer, various shades lending highlights and contours to the depths of the design. Thin tendrils of gold filigree crossed over the mask like delicate scales and joined thicker bands that accented the eyes and edges. Two curved horns rose up from the top, a green so dark they were almost black, and long satin ribbons trailed from the edges near the eye holes.

“It’s beautiful,” she remarked. Rhiona held it to her face and peered out through the leather. The craftsmanship was obvious; the leather almost molded to her face, supple against her skin. She gave a pointed look at her mother. “A wyvern.”

Eleanor grinned with feline grace. “Beautiful, is it not? Appropriate, even.”

Elissa peeked over at the mask. “It’s gorgeous,” she gasped. Her eyes gleamed. “Ree, you’re so much better at the noble sigils and heraldry than I am, remind me again what Gwaren’s heraldry is?”

“A wyvern, you goose.” Rhiona bopped her sister on the hand with the mask. “It is rather wondrous,” she said warmly. It gleamed in the light as she studied it once more, and with a smile, she turned to the merchant.

“It’s perfect—I’ll take it.”


	4. Chapter 4

“A letter for you, milady.”

“Thank you, Edwin, just--ah, there, yes. Thank you.”

Rhiona stood from the worktable and stretched, groaning. Her whole body protested her day's activity; her lower back ached, her shoulders screamed, and her hands cursed bloody murder at her for the long hours spent bent over the table, tending to her armor kit. The low sun trickled through the windows that peppered the workshop wall and she sighed. How had the day gone so fast?

She retrieved the letter from the nearby desk. Trepidation and excitement both grew in her belly. The parchment was sealed with a swirl of gold and green wax, and set in relief was a wyvern with its wings outstretched. She nervously broke the seal. 

 

> Lady Cousland,
> 
> I have already written your mother, but, as you are the aggrieved party, I wanted to write to you directly. I must cancel our meeting set for this week; a matter has arisen and dictates that my attention be elsewhere.
> 
> I look forward to seeing you on another occasion. When this matter has been taken care of, we shall arrange another meeting. I look forward to seeing you then.
> 
> Loghain Mac Tir

Her heart fell despite itself. It was nothing more than a negotiation, to be focused primarily on whatever requests he was to make of their engagement contract. The meeting itself was more a formality between the great houses than anything, but still, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed at the news.

Rhiona tucked his letter into her pocket for later in the evening and set back to maintaining her armor..

—

The lantern guttered. Rhiona groaned and set her pen aside before the nib could drip ink over the page.

“What do I say to this?” she asked her empty room. “We hardly know each other. Should I reply at all? Would that seem… weird?” No answer came from the ether. She eyed the half-written letter and sighed. No use in wasting paper.

 

>  To my Lord Teyrn, General Mac Tir,
> 
> Thank you for your letter. I’m sorry to hear you are unavailable, but these things happen. I pray that whatever it is resolves as easily and painlessly as possible. If it isn’t some secret, may I ask you to indulge my curiosity in what has commanded your attention?
> 
> I look forward to seeing you again at your convenience.
> 
> Warmly,
> 
> Ree Cousland

—

The next letter arrived eight days after she had sent her reply. Ree frowned. It looked as if it had seen better days; the envelope was smudged with dirt and a mystery splotch, and the ink on its face bled to mar the penmanship of its script. 

 

> Lady Cousland,
> 
> Apologies for the state of this letter in its arrival, as it comes from South Reach and the Arl’s ravens already had been sent by the time I had the chance to write. I believe I had mentioned I have been given the research project from His Majesty regarding the rebellion, which has taken me out of Denerim for the time being. It all is more aggravating than threatening, thankfully, and my companions are glad for that fact. It has been some time since I’ve had to travel like this; personally, it’s a wonder that my company hasn’t left me already on this errand.
> 
> While they were unnecessary, your prayers on my behalf are appreciated. Your mother mentioned your being a woman of great faith. Though I find myself attending to worldly matters more often than the religious, it is good to hear of those who are more strenuous in their belief.
> 
> Loghain Mac Tir

 

Rhiona had her pen in hand nearly as soon as she finished reading.  

 

> My Lord Teyrn, General Mac Tir,
> 
> I hope you find whatever it is you search for. As you cannot be in Denerim and South Reach at the same time, is there any way that I can make myself helpful to your search? We can forward materials to your residence in Fort Drakon to wait for your return, if that is convenient.
> 
> Ah, I have a question for you, one that has yet to be answered. In the event that the Denerim Castle Guard refuses a potential recruit’s enlistment, to whom does that recruit appeal the Captain’s decision? Guard-Captain Rorick has rejected the request of one of our own officers, seemingly on the basis of their loyalty to House Cousland and Highever; a junior guard suggested that the Captain is suspicious of “mixed loyalties.” Does this fall under your purview, as Lord General of the Ferelden armies and security advisor to Their Majesties, or under that of Arl Kendells? Arl Kendells is a busy man and has agreed to see to the matter in some time, but if there is an answer to be had, I would rather look for it sooner than that. My father has simply ceded to Captain Rorick's decision, though I believe it is made in bad faith.
> 
> At any rate, I speak for us all that anything of interest within the Cousland estates is at your disposal for your research purposes.

 She paused, considering. 

 

> As to the matter of faith, it is best put simply, in that I appreciate the teachings of Andraste, though with caution with their interpretations. It strikes me as less than polite to wax so personally on the subject in a letter, I must admit, as I do not particularly consider myself overly faithful or dedicated. If the opportunity arises, perhaps we can speak on this at a later date, after your duties bring you back to Denerim.
> 
> Warmly,
> 
> Ree Cousland

—

 

> Lady Cousland,
> 
> Your father thinks like a nobleman, in diplomatic webs. I find a more direct approach far more agreeable to my tastes. If Captain Rorick continues to press about your officer’s loyalties, remind him that it is every Fereldan’s duty to protect our lands and our people, and that the highest honor is to serve Their Majesties. He, himself, is from Redcliffe, and King Maric was the one who installed him as the Guard Captain; Rorick should know better.
> 
> If that offer is genuine, then I intend to collect. We have moved from South Reach to a nearby fort in our search. I have included a list of topics of particular interest to this project. I’m told that your sister is of a scholarly sort, perhaps you both can assist me in this. I’ll owe you both some favor for your help.
> 
> Loghain Mac Tir

—

 

> My Lord Teyrn, General Mac Tir,
> 
> I have found a handful of pieces that fall under the topics on your list. I have sent them to your office at Fort Drakon for your easy review. There seems to be a journal of an Orlesian arl, and Elissa, whose Orlesian is much better than mine, is looking to translate it. She hopes to have at least a summary ready for when you return.
> 
> On the subject, may I ask when it is you intend to return to Denerim? The holiday looms ever closer, and I know Teyrn Cousland arrives next week and has been looking forward to visiting with you while he is here. If your work keeps you from the capital through the holidays, it shall be unfortunate.
> 
> Warmly yours,
> 
> Ree Cousland
> 
> P.S: Perhaps I failed to mention it when we saw each other at the royal library some time ago--my loved ones call me Ree. It is said I take after my mother in her disdain for formalities, and I cannot blame those who think as much. At any rate, I would be honored for you to count yourself among that small number and call me that, as well.

—

Few lines awaited in the next letter.

 

> Ree,
> 
> I will agree, but only if you extend the same courtesy and drop the formality with me, as well. I do not use my titles outside of court or the battlefield, and this is neither.
> 
> I’m glad to hear of Bryce’s arrival. I expect he’ll likely call for a dinner together, for old times’ sake.
> 
> We ride for Denerim in two days, at behest of my companions. Satinalia calls us all home, I suppose. This letter will arrive shortly before I do, but I felt the need to reply.
> 
> Until we meet again.
> 
> Loghain

==

“Oh, what’s this? A packet of love letters?”

Ree snapped her head up from her book, her cup of hot cocoa cooling on the table beside her. Her sister rattled the small collection of letters from Loghain at her, all but mocking in her motions.

“Don’t,” she muttered, stricken.

“ _Are_  they love letters? Rhiona’s got an admirer!” Elissa cackled. She flopped backwards onto Ree’s bed and pulled the knot out of the ribbon that clasped the pages, letting them flutter over the bedspread.

“Elissa, I swear to the Maker, if you spill even one drop of cocoa on those, I _will_  end you.”

“‘To Lady Cousland,’— ooh, so formal. Who’s he courting, Grandmother?” Ellie laughed. She scanned through the first letter; Elissa’s face fell in muted disappointment and she discarded the page for another, only to find a similar reaction letter after letter. She looked up at Ree, bored. “High romance, for sure.”

“Well, I didn’t say they were grand declarations of love or anything,” Ree said defensively.

“Then why are you keeping them all ribboned up? Isn’t that just the most cliche romantic trope there is?”

Rhiona counted in her head to distract herself from the urge to strangle her sister. Her fingers flexed where they gripped her book. “Because they’re _important,_ Elissa. They’re--they’re meaningful, in their own way.”

“Hmpf.” Elissa made short work of retying the bundle and stowing them back into the drawer of Rhiona’s desk. “If that’s courtship, I think I’ll stick to books, thanks. At least those are interesting.”

“Just drink your chocolate,” Rhiona muttered crossly, face flushed. “Or I’ll tell Mother you’re avoiding her and Father again and hiding in my room.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Ree leaned half-out of her chair. “Try me.” A knock at the door interrupted their banter. “Saved by the knock,” Rhiona chuckled, rising to answer, only to find the delivery of a letter.

“Ooh, do I see another letter from Lord Mac Tir?”

Ree rubbed at the ink of her name with her thumb in answer.

“Well… are you going to read it or not?” Elissa needled.

“You are _such_ a little sister, do you know that?”

Elissa grinned. “That isn’t an answer.”

“Fine, fine.” Rhiona fell back into the plush embrace of her chair before pulling the letter from the envelope. “ _Ree—_ ” 

 

> Ree,
> 
> Thank you for the documents sent to my office. A cursory look at the pieces you have collected looks promising. You and your sister both have done me a great favor. I cannot say as to when I’ll have them returned, but know they are secure and out of harm’s way while in my care.
> 
> You mentioned in an earlier reply that you do not consider yourself overly faithful. I have heard the opposite. I would care to hear your views on the matter, if the idea of taking tea together is appealing. Perhaps you could speak more to your guard officer’s character then, and more on the situation with them.
> 
> Until then.
> 
> Loghain 

Rhiona’s heart pounded in her chest. Her face reddened as she finished reading.

“He likes my work!” Elissa cooed. “Did he say if he read the notes on _‘La Reine Rebelle?’_ I worked hard on that one.”

“You heard everything he said, Ellie,” Ree murmured, rereading the letter. He was interested, somewhat. She had been half in love with this man she’d barely known for seven years, and would be married to him soon enough, but that Loghain was /interested/ in her, even as marginally as this, made her stomach wobble in a way no man had ever before inspired.

“Are you going to write back?”

The words jogged Rhiona out of her rose-colored haze. “I, well. Yes. Yes, of course. It’s only polite.” Elissa giggled as Ree fumbled for her stationary kit.

“'My darling Loghain,’” Elissa narrated mirthfully, “'why, of _course_ I would love to take tea. In fact, I have been wildly in love with you since I was a girl. Please marry me posthaste so that we might have many fat, happy children. Yours, Rhiona Cousland.’ Something like that?”

Rhiona grinned despite herself. “You’re a real nuisance, you know,” she told Elissa. “Maybe I should have let you and Habren settle your own scores last summer.”

“You enjoyed pushing her into the pond every bit as much as I enjoyed watching it, even if you did feel guilty for it later.” Elissa propped her head up on her hand and looked pointedly at the blank page of the would-be response. “And so? What will you say to His Lordship?”

“He asked me not to call him that,” Rhiona murmured absentmindedly.

“Ooh, informal, now. How absolutely Marcher of him.”

“Hush, you. Let me think.” Rhiona dipped her pen into the inkwell with a hand that only barely trembled and narrated the letter out loud as she wrote. 

 

> Loghain,
> 
> I hope that the receipt of your letter means that you have arrived safely in Denerim. Please allow me to be one of many to welcome you home. I am sure all of Denerim feels safer now, with you back within the city’s walls.
> 
> Your research project has been the talk of the household, and Elissa has expressed interest in further scholastic assistance, if she may be helpful to you. She is particularly well-versed in languages, and speaks five to my own four; perhaps that can be of use to your endeavors. My dear sister is glad to offer whatever assistance she can between her activities in preparing for her introduction to the Court.
> 
> As for tea, that would be lovely. My projects through the day are easily arranged, so whenever is convenient for you shall be equally agreeable for me.
> 
> I await your reply.
> 
> Warmly yours,
> 
> Ree

She capped her pen with a flourish and Elissa gave a strangled squeak from the bed beside her.

“You didn’t have to say all that about me,” she muttered. Her hands were clapped over her face, and an embarrassed blush snuck out from beneath the shield of her fingers. “What if he actually wants to--I don’t know--to talk to me or some such?”

“Then you’ll talk with him. You’re brilliant, and, by all accounts, he appreciates brilliant people. And,” Ree pointed out, “you’ve already been a great help to his work. I never would have found half of those records without your freakish memory of the archives and our own library. Just, ah, perhaps don’t mention the plan to attend the University of Orlais. You want your future brother-in-law to think highly of you, after all.”

Ree laughed at the aggravated, miserable groan her sister gave in response.

==

The rest of her Satinalia costume came together stunningly, even beyond the efforts that surreptitious bundles of sweets and the usual bonus payments generally yielded from their far-too-patient seamstresses and tailors.

Rhiona turned slowly to admire the lines of her outfit in the mirror. The bodice offered a scooped neckline that bared her shoulders and the fabric glimmered with embroidery done in the style of emerald and gold scales. Long swathes of gauzy fabric were fastened at her back and elbows to resemble folded wings. The pleated skirt would reveal just hints of gold and green, in a myriad of colors, when it belled out with movement.

It was a marvelous ensemble, all told, and Ree glowed as the seamstresses made the final fitting notes.

“You will look stunning, dear heart,” her mother said proudly. “Loghain won’t know what hit him.”

“It’s not for him,” Rhiona demurred, even as she took in the wyvern mask that covered half her face.

Eleanor smiled and tapped her cheek. “Of course not,” she agreed. “It’s all happenstance that your husband-to-be’s heraldry is a wyvern rampant.”

“It is! Wyverns are fierce and loyal and—and brave. All attributes anyone should be glad to emulate.”

“And the colors?”

“Green for vitality, of course. And gold for prosperity. Simple associations. It’s purely tradition, with the turning of the season! Really, Mother.”

Eleanor cackled. “But of course.” She waited patiently as Rhiona changed back into her day clothes and pressed an additional gold coin into each member of the talented team’s hands. They left, arms linked, and strolled into the muted afternoon light of the town square.

“I want him to like me, am I so transparent in that?” Rhiona finally said, quietly, keeping the confession between them. “I know, I know--you’ve said before that I have many admirable qualities, and perhaps I do, but I do want to impress him. To make an impression on him.”

Her mother nodded, hailing a coach. “I suppose anything is better than how your father and I met. Though I’m not sure Loghain _wouldn’t_ be impressed by fancy footwork and a long blade at his throat.” She snorted. “Loghain isn’t a man to be beguiled by beauty, Rhiona. He values the mind, and the experiences it carries. Wisdom. Wit. He’s not a man looking for the bride with the best dowry or the most impressive family connections, he’s looking for a good match.”

“That’s part of why I worry.” The coach arrived and they entered, dictating their destination and getting comfortable in the plush carriage. “He is just so… _worldly,_  and for as many vacations and tutors you and father have afforded me, how could I possibly measure up to his standards?”

“Rhiona.” Eleanor took Ree’s hands in her own. “Teyrna Celia was a cabinetmaker’s daughter. She was one of the few people not intimidated into silence when Loghain arrived in Gwaren after the war to take up the mantle of Teyrn. He never stepped foot into the castle and slept in a tent just inside its walls. Loghain spent months rebuilding the city side by side with its citizenry, and the hall lay neglected. For how she told it, Celia finally accosted the man and yelled at him for being a neglectful lord, told him the town wouldn’t stand for it. He sought her advice on the matter and then proposed soon after.”

Ree gaped, stunned.

 _“That_  is the type of woman Loghain Mac Tir appreciates. Someone who speaks to him, not his title, not his responsibilities. Someone who cares about his interests, but has those of her own. He’s looking for a companion, not a prized pet. I promise you this: I will never allow to you be shackled to a man who does not appreciate you fully, no matter what your father thinks of a match.”

“I didn’t realize she hadn’t been some nobility, herself,” Rhiona muttered.

Eleanor’s hand tightened their grip. “Does that sway your opinion of the late Teyrna?”

“N-no, of course not. I just… didn’t know, I suppose.” She drew a shaking breath. “But that does make me feel better,” Ree admitted.

“Good.” Eleanor let go of her hands and patted her knee affectionately. “Now, about your courtship with Loghain…”

“I would hardly call it a _courtship,_  Mother,” Rhiona protested. “We’ve simply written letters to one another. And only a few, at that.”

“I’m not concerned at all by that, I just wanted to know more about this tea date.”

Rhiona scowled. “Remind me to throttle my sister when we get home, would you? It is simply conversation over tea, set sometime in a nebulous future. It probably won’t even happen. He’s a busy man, you know.”

“And do you want to attend such a conversation?”

“Well… yes. Of course.” Rhiona blushed. Her hand rose to toy with the end of her braid. “He is an intriguing man. I would be lying if I said otherwise.” They neared the edge of their estate, the gates looming ahead. “Why do you ask?”

“Your father and I met with him this morning—”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? Shouldn’t I have—ah. Sorry. Please, go on.”

Eleanor raised her brow. “We met with him this morning to discuss the marriage contract. It is as I expected, he simply would like more time before a formal announcement of the engagement. With the holidays and his lady wife not long passed, he feels it is appropriate to delay such an announcement.”

“Oh, thank the Maker.” Rhiona gave a relieved sigh, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she held. “I… that’s good, that’s more than good.”

Eleanor nodded. “He also wants to get to know you, in the period between now and then. Your father and I discussed it while you were at your costume fitting. At your age, I don’t believe a formal chaperone is entirely appropriate anymore, do you? You are a woman grown, engaged to be married. That is not an invitation to channel my own bad behaviors, but...”

Their carriage brought them up the drive to the estate and cut off the conversation. They crossed the threshold of the estate and shrugged off their coats, leaving the snow-damp garments to the care of their stewards. Rhiona only stared at her mother.

“I… right,” she said, floundering.

“Good! Then you hereby have our permission to do as you see fit. Oh, don’t be nervous, Ree,” Eleanor chided lightly. “Loghain is an honorable man, and his oath is his bond. You will come to no hurt in his care.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Rhiona agreed, dreamily. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest. “He… yes. My betrothed, officially.”

Eleanor smiled and swept Rhiona into a tight hug. “I am so happy for you, Rhiona. I’ve prayed long for this day, to provide a good life for you. The Maker works in mysterious ways but He has brought us here, and that’s enough for me.” She squeezed her once more before parting. “But come, your father and I have one last surprise for you at dinner. Go get ready—we’ll talk more about it then.”

"Why can't you tell me now?"

"Dinner!" Eleanor's laughter rang through the halls as she passed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at [ocean-in-my-rebel-soul!](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com)  
> 
> 
> Comments and concrit always appreciated! Thank you for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> I have a complicated appreciation for Loghain Mac Tir. I can see why he does the things he does, and I wanted to explore that. I'm not really sorry about that appreciation, though I recognize that he spends the game fucking shit up for Ferelden and the Warden in particular in the name of patriotism and his love of country. Definitely not a Good character, but he's so GOOD at it.


End file.
